Falling
by Idlewild
Summary: Coda to an early scene in Iron Man 3, where Tony has a nightmare. After Pepper leaves the room, Tony suffers a full-blown anxiety attack. Pepper comes back and helps him calm down. Tony's POV. Rated for swearing and explicit description of PTSD/panic attack symptoms. One-shot.


**A/N:  
Trigger warning:** Contains visceral, first-hand description of a severe panic attack. If you have a history of that kind of thing, please think twice about reading. No fic is worth that kind of trauma. *sends cuddly kittens and apple blossoms your way*

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Every time he falls asleep, it's a new iteration of the same dream. An accidental five-minute nap at his desk – _cold empty space_ – crashing out on the sofa – _falling_ – in bed next to Pepper – _call failed call failed call failed_. He jolts awake to the sound of Pepper almost-screaming by his side, his body responding even as his mind is still halfway inside the dream.

'Power down!' he orders, hands thrown up in a placating gesture, and the Mark 42 whirs and goes dark. A slash through the air makes it fall apart, raining bits of high-tech circuits and alloys across their bedroom rug and taking all his energy with it. His heart is racing, pounding so hard it hurts, and he can barely even think through the din of it. Pepper is gasping behind him, clearly shocked, so he gathers as much of himself as he possibly can to try and calm her. To apologise.

'Must've called in my sleep… That's not supposed to happen, I'll…' His thoughts derail – _falling empty failed_ – as his heart throws itself with terrible force against his chest piece, but he picks up the scattered remains of the sentence. 'I'll recalibrate… sensors –' Pepper is already getting out of bed, her normally graceful movements sharp with anger. He knows this side of her, knows it's futile to argue, but he tries anyway, his voice hollow with a lack of conviction and oxygen.

'Can we just… just let me… just let me catch my breath. Hey, don't – don't go, all right?' It's as close to begging as he can get, and it's not enough.

'I'm gonna sleep downstairs,' she huffs, sounding about as upset as he feels. 'Tinker with that!' and she's gone.

He collapses against the headboard as though in slow-motion, then proceeds to sliding onto the floor, because any semblance of strength has left him and even staying on the bed demands too much effort. The 42 is strewn around him in an aggravating metaphor for his state of mind, and a sudden burst of rage courses through him, because these fucking suits are always driving her away from him and it's tearing him apart, trying to divide himself between his love for work and his love for her. Lashing out without thinking, he backhands a piece of the helmet across the room. It caroms off a corner and crashes loudly into the torso armour, and his hand – the same one he sprained earlier today – burns ferociously. He hardly notices, because the fury has dissipated as suddenly as it came, and he's left shaking and panting with his back to the bed.

There's not enough air in the room, and he wants to run, but he's trapped, and then he's dropped brutally back into the nightmare – except it's not a nightmare. It's real. It really happened. It's really happening, and he's powerless as he falls through the _dark call failed vacuum cold darkness_ and "_you know that's a one-way trip?_" and he will never see Pepper again and he can't. Fucking. Breathe. Cold is crushing his chest from the inside, freezing his diaphragm to near immobility. It goes on and on, eternal nothingness, and how can this _nothing_ hurt so much? There's no way out and there's no way he'll survive this.

On some level, he's aware of the soft hands on his shoulders, and the golden hair swimming across his vision, but that can't be real, because he can't breathe and he's shivering with the frigid emptiness of space while Pepper is back on Earth and he's let her down. He will always let her down. His head tips forward, bouncing on his drawn-up knees as it becomes too heavy to hold up. There are fingers running through his hair now, and over the ringing, rushing noise in his ears he can hear Pepper's voice. She sounds so worried. She needs him. So even as he's falling, he reaches out for her, trembling hands somehow finding her back and her arm. She is so warm. He didn't think he would ever feel warmth again, but there it is.

'Tony, can you hear me? Oh God, Tony, please, I'm sorry…' she's saying. And he _can_ actually hear her. She is actually here. _He_ is actually here. His head is killing him and his breath is coming in irregular, shallow gasps that he can't for the life of him control, but at least he's here.

'I thought –' he chokes out, and that's just about the limit to the number of words he can string together right now.

Pepper is shushing him, her hands raking through the soaked hair at his neck. 'Don't talk, just breathe,' she mumbles, and there are tears in her voice now. He nods and tries, but his chest is constricted and he can't, can't… He realises that he's saying that out loud, over and over between gasps. Pepper's hands move down the side of his face, along his jaw, lifting his head. She's asking him to look at her, and how could he not? She is so beautiful. And she's crying, but then so is he, probably. He can't quite tell.

'Just breathe,' she repeats, looking him in the eye and demonstrating: a slow, deep breath, in and out. It's crazy how something so easy can be so hard, but he does it for her. In. Out. In. Out. Synchronised like the currents in an electromagnet. His heart is slowing down in sympathy, the tingling in his arms is diminishing, and he realises that he might be gripping Pepper's arms a bit too forcefully.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers as he loosens his grip, but he's not really apologising for squeezing her. His hands shake as he draws them along her arms. 'I'm sorry I left you, I'm so sorry…'

'Oh Tony,' she sighs, twisting herself around to sit down next to him, 'it's okay. You came back, didn't you?' She puts an arm around his back, urging him nearer so that he's leaning against her. 'I know you'll always come back,' she continues. He rests his head on her shoulder, and she smells so good even when she's this sweaty. His hand is throbbing and his head is aching, but the awful constriction in his chest has eased. With a conscious effort, he synchronises their breathing again, although his keeps hitching now and again. This nearness – her air and heat and _being_ – is all he could possibly need. He closes his eyes and simply breathes.

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**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading my first foray into the Marvel 'verse! I was rather bothered by Pepper's ignoring Tony in that scene, so I felt it had to be fixed. I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, I would love it if you'd post a review!


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